


And miles to go

by moonblossom



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Comfort, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Potential or Implied Steve/Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve can't sleep. Neither can Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And miles to go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [belovedmuerto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedmuerto/gifts).



> My lovey has been going through a lot of pretty terrible things lately, culminating in this weekend. This is my feeble attempt at writing Steve and Bucky in the hopes of making her smile a little bit. ❤
> 
> _But I have promises to keep,_   
>  _And miles to go before I sleep,_   
>  _And miles to go before I sleep._

It isn't that Steve is _trying_ to listen in. He just can't help it. On the other side of the wall, Bucky's rolled over at least six times now, punched his pillow twice, and cursed in Russian a couple of times too, for good measure. At least, Steve's pretty sure he was cursing.

He rolls onto his back, kicking the sheets off and running a hand through his hair. He's torn between going to Bucky, going to see if there's anything he can do, and leaving him alone. Things are better between them now, but Steve's still not sure he'd qualify them as _good_.

In the end, it's Bucky who makes the decision for him. While Steve's still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, the door opens with a creak. Bucky's footsteps are silent, but somehow Steve can still tell exactly where he is. He flicks the dim light by the side of the bed on, squinting for a moment at the brightness.

"Can't sleep?"

There's a dip on the other side of the mattress as Bucky sits down, his back to Steve. Steve rolls onto his side, reaching out and tentatively pressing his fingertips against Bucky's spine. He feels Bucky shudder under his fingers, trembling slightly but not pulling away.

"It's..." Bucky sighs, still facing away. He rolls his shoulder, and Steve watches the puckered scar tissue pull and stretch around the metal joint. "It doesn't hurt, but it's not..." He sighs again, sentence unfinished.

Steve understands though. "Not comfortable, huh? I could..." He sits up and rummages through the drawer in his bedside table, digging for the bottle of castor oil. Tony gave him some gadget that supposedly relaxes muscles with ultrasound, Bruce had suggested some calming blend of oils and herbs with names Steve couldn't pronounce, but in the end there was something comforting and familiar about good old-fashioned castor oil. He may not suffer from aches and pains as frequently as a normal person would, but he still gets stiff muscles after a particularly intense workout. Or saving the city again.

He catches Bucky's expression in the mirror. Mostly he looks apprehensive, but there's a trace of a familiar smirk playing about his lips. Steve makes eye contact with the reflection, thinking maybe it will be less uncomfortable for Bucky.

"Oil in the bedside drawer, Rogers? I'm not that kind of gal." He smirks, and for one perfect second things seem almost frighteningly normal. Steve's cheeks heat slightly; his fingers fumble as he opens the bottle.

"It's for your shoulder..." Steve's not sure why he's so flustered. He knows Bucky's just teasing. He tenses slightly as Steve's fingers touch the puckered skin around the metal joint, but he makes no motion to leave. Gently, patiently, Steve works the oil into the tense tissue, feeling Bucky's skin warm under his hands. Every so often Bucky lets out a muffled little noise that could nearly be classified as a moan or sigh, but he swallows them back almost immediately. The oil absorbs in steadily, until the skin of Steve's fingertips catches on the skin of Bucky's shoulder. He sits back, shuffling away on the bed slightly.

"Better?" He's still talking to Bucky's reflection, trying to ignore the fact that Bucky won't turn to face him.

Bucky rolls his shoulder, cold metal shifting against skin warmed by friction, and Steve catches another small smile in the mirror. "Actually, yeah. Thanks..."

Steve smiles back and settles into bed again, leaning against the headboard. "You could stay in here, you know. If it gets uncomfortable again, might be easier?"

There's something unspoken in his offer, and he's sure Bucky picks up on it, but neither of them acknowledge it out loud. There's a shift of weight on the mattress as Bucky stands up and slides smoothly under the covers. 

Turning away, Steve reaches to turn the light out. He's pretty sure everyone would flip about him turning his back to the Winter Soldier in the dark like this, but he's not. He's turning his back to James Buchanan Barnes, his best and oldest friend, and that's entirely different.

His breathing settles into a steady rhythm, but behind him Bucky is still huffing and fidgeting. Without turning around, Steve reaches behind himself, wrapping his fingers gently around the wrist of the metal arm. Bucky doesn't move, but doesn't fight him. Cautiously, he rests Bucky's hand on his own hip. There's still space between them, but he can feel the heat radiating off Bucky's chest, the occasional tickle of breath against the back of his neck. It's comforting, all things considered.

"Figured maybe it'll be easier if the weight is supported."

Bucky huffs out something that might even be considered a laugh. Steve's excuse is thin, but Bucky really does seem to be more comfortable with some of the strain taken away from his shoulder. He shifts slightly, shuffling even closer to Steve, nearly closing the gap between their bodies, but apparently unwilling to move that final few inches. Steve kind of wants to, but he doesn't want to spook Bucky, so he stays put.

Eventually, they both relax, their breathing patterns falling into a nearly synchronous rhythm. Steve's eyes flutter shut as he drifts off.

The next time he opens them, there's sun pouring in through the window. The bed next to him is empty, which doesn't surprise him. The pillow is still slightly indented though, and warm to the touch, which does. He smiles to himself and stretches as he gets out of bed. He can hear the clatter and bang of pots and pans, and the occasional muffled mumble coming from the back of the apartment. It's an almost frighteningly domestic situation, and the thought makes him smile widely as he heads down the hall towards the kitchen. There are definitely worse ways to start the day.


End file.
